


His Alpha's Scent

by sanguisuga



Series: Alpha/Omega Classifieds [4]
Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Greg, Alpha/Omega Dynamics, But His Alpha Knows What He Needs, Cliffhanger, Greg is Away, M/M, Masturbation, Mycroft is Pining, Omega Mycroft, Omegaverse, Scent Kink, Soft Smut Sunday, Stinky Surprises, To be Concluded Next Week, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 15:52:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15666402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: Greg is away, but he knows what his Omega needs.





	His Alpha's Scent

Mycroft’s fingers trembled as he went through the day’s mail, acutely aware of Anthea’s stalwart presence on the other side of his desk. He set aside the final piece of mail - a medium size bubble envelope - and cleared his throat as he handed over the correspondence that required responses.

“And that one, sir?”

“Is eyes only. _My_ eyes, which you know very well. Get on with you.”

Anthea smirked as she withdrew, making sure that the door that connected their offices was securely shut behind her. Mycroft sat there a moment longer, his spine ramrod-straight and his hands folded in front of him until he was sure she had retreated all the way back to her desk. And then he snatched up the thick envelope, slicing it open with one vicious sweep of his letter opener.

Clutching it to his chest, Mycroft scurried into his en suite, locking the door behind him before flipping on the light. Oh, they would be having words about this - what did Greg think he was playing at by sending this to his office? He tipped the package over, his heart tripping as a sealed zip-top bag labelled ‘evidence’ came tumbling out, followed by a piece of folded notepaper.

It was the same hotel stationery as the last four packages, but this brief note did far more to lift Mycroft’s spirits than any of the others had.

_‘Omega mine -_

_Thought I’d send you another reminder of just how terribly your Alpha misses you. I’ll be home soon, sweetheart. We’re closing in on the bastard and should have the whole thing wrapped up in the next few days. I love you, and can’t wait to have you in my arms again._

_\- Your Greg xx’_

Home. His Alpha would soon be returned to him, after nearly three whole weeks in America. Mycroft pressed the note to his lips, allowing himself a moment to let the relief overwhelm him. Three weeks in a joint operation to catch a foul creature that had perpetrated some truly horrendous crimes in London, but had managed to slip out of the country before his victims had been discovered.

It didn’t take the criminal very long to get up to more mischief in New York City, and once the city’s police force had figured out that the bastard was wanted by Interpol and why, they had wisely asked for the lead investigator on the London case to come work with them on it. Mycroft had insisted that Greg go, even though they had only been bonded barely four months at the time. Besides the fact that Greg had clearly been excited for the opportunity, there was no doubt that it would prove to be quite the boon for his career.

Mycroft carefully set aside the note, reaching out for the zip-top bag. The first of these little care packages had arrived about a week after Greg’s departure, airmailed at no little expense to ensure that it arrived quickly. Mycroft had opened it to discover he had sent him a handkerchief that he had used to mop his brow while out in the city. Mycroft had slept with it on his pillow that night, almost ridiculously calmed by the subtle scent of his mate’s sweat.

The second had been one of the tatty vests that Greg liked to sleep in. The note that came with that one stated that he had worn it for four nights running, and Mycroft had buried his face in it before wearing it to bed himself. It had almost felt like his Alpha was there with him, holding him through the night. Almost.

The third was a pillowcase, and Mycroft had shaken his head at his mate’s blatant theft of hotel property - quite appalling for a seasoned Detective Inspector. But of course he wasn’t moral enough to send it back, instead stuffing Greg’s pillow into it and cradling it as he slept. The fourth... Well, the fourth package had contained a pair of Greg’s pants, and Mycroft had been extremely grateful to have been home alone when that one had been delivered.

And now there was - this. Which had some of the same heft as the previous package, and even through the bold red ‘evidence’ label, Mycroft could tell that the material within was grey. The same shiny grey of those satiny pants that Greg only wore when he knew that they would be coming off very shortly because - and he remembered this very clearly - _‘they make me sweat like a horse, babe’_.

Mycroft shivered, holding the bag to his chest, understanding instinctually that to open it here would be a very bad idea indeed and knowing that he was going to do it anyway. He held his breath as he eased the bag open, blowing it out softly before sticking his nose into the smallest of gaps. _Oh fuck._ Spice and musk, the sharp bite of sweat and... Salt? No - he hadn’t. Mycroft spun in place and very carefully sank back, bracing his bum against the sink as his head went light due to lack of blood.

Of course he had.

Breathing shallowly, fighting to ignore his cock as it throbbed at him, Mycroft opened the bag wider, catching sight of another note within. He very carefully snagged it between thumb and forefinger, holding the bag closed as he unfolded it.

_‘Wore them all day, thinking of you. Popped a stiffy three times - thank God I was behind a desk most of the day! Had to take care of myself when I got back to the hotel - thought about you on your knees for me. Came spectacularly, as you can see.’_

Biting his lip to keep the whimpers at bay, Mycroft pulled the soft material out of the bag, letting the plastic flutter to the floor as he unfolded the satiny grey pants. His entire body jolted as he held them up, eyeing the long streaks and messy smears of come that decorated them. _Beast. Horrid, awful, terrible, absolutely delicious beast of a man._

Nearly sobbing with the effort of holding himself back, Mycroft simply balled up the material and shoved his face into it, fumbling at his zipper one-handed. It was base and animalistic, and he really really shouldn’t be doing it here, but he had no choice. There was no thought in his head beyond the desire that was coursing through his veins, his only impulse that of seeking release.

The overwhelming aroma of his mate’s arousal, the heat of his spicy scent and the musk of his spend made Mycroft’s mouth water, and he let a generous amount of saliva drip into his hand before taking hold. Fucking into his fist fast and hard, he kept his face tipped up to the ceiling, heaving hot breaths through the material, finally taking a bit of it into his mouth and sucking at the taste of his Alpha.

He allowed himself a brief mental image, knowing that if he let his mind wander too far afield that he’d be tempted to do it properly, to remove every stitch of clothing, to rub his mate’s pants all over his body, to wallow in his scent. That was for home, not for here, _this_ shouldn’t even be for here and oh _Christ_ what was he doing? So he concentrated on the same thing that his Alpha had, picturing himself on his knees for his mate, his Greg, taking him in his mouth, letting himself be used and oh _fuck..._

Mycroft’s shoes skidded on the tile as his knees wobbled, the rhythm of his hand stuttering over his cock. He flailed out and grasped hold of the edge of the sink for support, Greg’s pants still clenched in his teeth. He thrust fitfully as his cock swelled in his hand, the first shot very nearly splashing against the opposite wall. He trembled and cursed under his breath as the pressure behind his groin burst, waves of heat flooding his belly.

When he had stopped shaking, when his cock had quieted itself, Mycroft opened bleary eyes and looked down at himself. While a bit had dribbled onto his right shoe, he had mostly survived the onslaught with only minute traces left behind. He very briefly entertained the thought of wiping up his own mess with Greg’s already soiled pants, but no. He still didn’t know when his mate would be home, so his dirty little present needed to be preserved.

Mycroft carefully folded the pants back into the evidence bag and sealed it back up before tidying up his person and the bathroom. To ensure that everything was once again pristine, he flushed the evidence of his minor debauchery down the toilet. Splashing his face with cold water helped to alleviate the blotchiness of sated arousal in his cheeks, and he once again settled behind his desk, affecting an air of cool indifference despite the thudding of his heartbeat in his ears.

With his much-appreciated present tucked away deep in the pocket of his outer coat, hung up in the corner of the room, Mycroft was once again able to focus on his tasks. He even managed to appear fully composed when Anthea brought in his afternoon tea, despite her increased scrutiny. Satisfied that his dirty secret remained so, Mycroft consumed his well-earned biscuit and sank back into routine, his eyes only occasionally seeking out the lump in his coat pocket.

The text arrived just as he was contemplating what to bring home for dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> Dun dun dunnn... TBC next SSS...
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> Not beta'd or brit-picked. Characters not mine, but the situation definitely is!
> 
> If you'd like to get notifications from tumblr, I'm at 'bitemebat.tumblr.com'. Come follow me, and you'll get pretty boys and soft kitties on your dash!


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